A Case To Remember
by Zobina
Summary: When a body is discovered, Morgan has a suspect in mind with who is more than just a personal acquintance.


With no energy to shout, nor the time to smash his priced ornaments and priceless paintings that he oh so treasured, she began to pack; knowing that she had to get out of there and out of that room soon.

She grabbed her satchel from the floor, throwing it onto the bed with enough force to create a ripple through the crisp sheets. Pulling out the first draw of the bedside cabinet, she scooped out her belongings; keys, lipstick, odd earrings, and placed them without much care into her open bag. She cared not to check with care what she placed into this bag; without realising she had already removed his own set of keys from the draw, along with his comb and a rusted cufflink.

She paced across the room; her bare feet cushioned by the shag pile, the skin between her toes caressed by its soft wool. From the television she picked up her mug, before moving swiftly to the bathroom sink and tipping it's reminisces down the drain. She had no time to dry it, and flung it inside the satchel along with her other belongings.

The wardrobe was opened next. Without even removing the coat hangers, she yanked the clothes from within the closet and scrunched them inside the bag with unbelievable force, beginning to find it more and more difficult to find room to put more of her belongings inside.

And only then did she realise that he had been standing behind her, and she guessed for at least a number of minutes.

Her body went limp, frozen. The hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention, as his strong hand moulded around her nape. She dropped her chiffon cardigan that she held in her left hand, and heard it lightly bounce as it hit the rug below. Tears dwelled in her eyes, but did not fall.

"Your here," she stated.

He did not reply, but tensed his fingers slightly, giving her a sincere cold shiver which ran down the length of her spine. He felt her goose bumps arise, and began to stroke her neck with his thumb gently. She could not see his expression with her back turned to him, but she believed she had a pretty shrewd idea of what it would be. She tried not to blink, allowing the water in her eyes to dance and blur her vision.

Before long she realised that he had moved his head closer, because she could feel the pungent heat of his breath burning her skin. The stroking of her neck started to turn into a slight scratch with his nail, producing white marks, finally forcing her to blink. Annoyed, she slowly wiped the free tears that had dropped down onto her cheeks. She dared not move more than that.

He learnt toward her, his mouth touching her ear. He spoke slowly; clearly and concise.

"I saw you."

Her heart missed a vital beat which made her arms shake. He continued.

"I'm sorry."

Her stomach dropped to her feet immediately, and she felt his hand move away from her. She knew exactly what he meant, and why he was sorry. There was only one reason why he would be apologising to her.

She turned quickly, grabbing his hand that had previously been around her neck and reaching for his other in complete desperation. Only then did she dare to look upon his face. Not what she had been expecting, which did not relief her in any shape or form.

Blank expression: _shit_.

Tears dropped in regular succession now, falling one after the other down her face, drawing lines through her thin layer of foundation. He fingers tightened around his, and she shook as she spoke.

"Please, just listen to me. You have to believe me, I will never tell a soul..."

She forgot how fast he could move when he wanted to.

His hand grasped the back of her hair, her delicate scalp stretched from the force of his enormous grip. She knelt from the pain, squealing, pleading evidently more than before. She didn't understand - he had a choice; he didn't have to kill her.

Her fingernails dug in to his hands with any strength that she could withhold. She could feel the skin ripping underneath her nails like paper from a present, and after a few seconds of desperate clawing it wasn't long until his blood began to appear, fresh yet clotted, on the surface of his hand.

He nail became lose, index finger. She screamed in horror as she watched it fall down to the floor, her own blood beginning to stream over her hands. She tried to grab for other things to help her win this losing battle – her bag with her phone in, the lamp, even a television remote could have been helpful.

But as he tightened his stance and grip on her poor head, she soon realised that her efforts were hopeless, and she should just get it over with.

Suddenly, she stopped writhing. She stopped crying, scratching, reaching out. She just knelt, in silence, and waited for her life to end.


End file.
